


Honor Thy Lord

by th3rm0pyl43



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode V: Empire Strikes Back, Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Inappropriate Use of the Force, Light Bondage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Battle of Hoth, Praise Kink, Surprisingly Balanced Relationship, The Author Regrets Nothing, lbr that's pretty much a given when I write shippy fic involving Veers, space cuirassier body appreciation, the thirst is strong with this one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-02
Updated: 2018-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-12 18:22:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13552983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th3rm0pyl43/pseuds/th3rm0pyl43
Summary: After the Battle of Hoth, Lord Vader spares no expense in rewarding his loyal general.





	Honor Thy Lord

Just as the blaze of Mustafar was where Jedi went to die, Hoth was the Rebel Alliance’s icy grave.

As the surviving Rebels fled and those left behind were either taken prisoner or gunned down without remorse, even Lord Vader could feel the creeping cold seep through his armor, his suit and his skin and into his very bones. He looked at the snowtroopers accompanying him and wondered whether the soldiers in white could feel it too or his senses were deceiving him, heightened by the death and pain all around him fueling the ravenous Dark.

Lord Vader had not been merciful that day. Why should he have been - the thrill of finally crushing the Alliance after three years of them slipping through his grasp was far too sweet to let leniency sour it.

As for finding a commander who was up to the challenge of leading the decisive, vengeful onslaught, Vader was certain that he had chosen well. Major General Maximilian Veers had led the fabled Blizzard Force into battle and left blackened snow and bloodied ice in his wake. The legendary armored assault expert, fondly called ‘Iron Max’ by his soldiers, wielded the mechanical might of Imperial war machines with unmatched skill, a honed blade of hardest steel, holding deadly power.

Vader’s fondness of the battle-hardened old soldier went beyond mere recognition of his martial talent, though. A carefully nurtured, precious little flame formed a glimmer of light in the Dark Lord’s scorched heart - he loved his general. The feeling was deeply mutual, he knew; as stony the war hero’s mask was, he could not hide the glint of warmth in his eyes when they fixed the cold metal of his Lord’s mask with their watchful gaze.

As Vader strode through the corridors of Echo Base - little more than passages carved into ice and snow -  surrounded by snowtroopers of his 501st Legion, he could not help wondering where Veers was and whether the mop-ups had begun yet. The comm chatter he was able to listen in on had faded to a low drone, and not once had he heard the general’s familiar voice. He must have both hands full, Vader thought - the entire operation had been no minor raid.

It crossed the Dark Lord’s mind that the assault had been conducted with a surprisingly small force by comparison and still had crushed the Alliance underfoot, save for those few lucky souls who had managed to escape with the _Gallofree_ transports that had broken through the orbital blockade with the help of the planetary ion cannon. Veers was to be commended for his highly efficient use of extensively trained snowtroopers, a mere handful of TIE fighters, and by far his favorite tool of earthbound warfare, the mighty AT-AT walkers. Vader dared not imagine a full-scale offensive led by the gifted general - a morbid spectacle orchestrated with grace, he was certain, by a mind as focused and deadly as his own lightsaber’s scarlet blade.

Even with such a small force, Echo Base had essentially been smoked out. Nothing of interest or significance was reported to Vader as he conducted a final sweep at his soldiers’ side, and so he decided to return to the landing point and let the infantry clean up its own mess.

* * *

Lord Vader thought he could feel his heart leap with joy as _Blizzard 1_ came into view, towering high above the snow that had been trodden into a hard crust by hundreds of boots, tracks and durasteel paws. With its side hatches open wide, the walker stood still, cradled by a mobile boarding platform whose repulsor-powered elevator was just in the middle of its descent.

Vader quickly reached out with the Force and did not have to wait for the platform’s occupants to come into view to begin approaching the spot where the elevator would touch the ground. He sensed three distinct life signatures up there; two were _Thundering Herd_ pilots Veers favored, and the third was the general himself. Vader felt a warmth settle in his core as the latter came closer, and he closed his eyes for a moment to bask in that blissful glow that never failed to give him a precious little bit of solace from his constant physical pain. It was a miracle, truly - something as simple and yet profound as love, easing Vader’s eternal suffering.

The Dark Lord drank in the sight as the platform hovered low enough to let him see more of Veers than just the black goggles crowning his helmet. It was unusual but exciting to look at the towering general from below; stepping closer, Vader noted that the man looked even more powerfully built from this point of view.

Veers was always a sight for sore eyes - nearly as tall as his Lord, wonderfully fit and strong, carrying himself with a grace that belied his power. Coming closer, Vader noted that Veers’ pale blue field armor and helmet were littered with dents, scratches and scorch marks typically left by blasters. His grey tactical uniform was rumpled in some places, and his boots gleamed with moisture and chunks of snow clinging to them. A sturdy blaster pistol was strapped to his right hip, and an E-11 blaster rifle in a standard-issue black leather holster dangled off his belt at his other side next to a few small pouches. Vader knew that Veers always kept a small bayonet in his boot as well whenever he went to battle - he had once watched him defend himself formidably with the blade attached to the barrel of that same rifle, alternating smoothly between using lethal point-blank firepower and the equally deadly bite of razor-sharp steel.

‘Iron Max’ was not that far off from being a one-man army, if one counted him as one and the same as his towering combat walkers. Though the Blizzard Force snowtroopers had made the final push and cleared out Echo Base proper, the _Thundering Herd_ had stolen the spotlight by marching tenaciously through the crossfire and paving the way.

The Dark Lord awaited his general with anticipation. As soon as the platform settled gently on the snow, Veers stepped forward, tailed by the two pilots, and stood at attention with his hands behind his ramrod-straight back.

“Reporting in, Lord Vader” he greeted his superior. “The operation has been successful. We have wiped the Rebels off the face of this world.”

“You have done well, General. Victory is ours today thanks to your brilliance.”

Vader felt Veers’ pride swell, and the general’s posture straightened minutely, tensing just a little more. The pilots behind him faded from his Lord’s perception for a moment as Vader allowed his presence to circle Veers’ form.

Veers briefly closed his eyes as he felt the fleeting, almost affectionate touch of the Force on his shoulders. Though he hardly had any ability to actively tap into it, Vader had taught him to reach out with his mind and make use of the bond the Dark Lord had forged with him to sense the currents of the Force regardless. He had soon discovered that Veers had a certain aptitude for reading others’ thoughts like open books; meditating with him before battle to discern the enemy’s plans had brought them victory after victory without fail.

“My Lord, Echo Base is dead. Now that our troops have pulled out, our scans no longer detect any life signs within the entire fortification.”

Vader inclined his head. He had indeed chosen well; Veers’ operations were always thorough. Looking down at him, he watched the wind play with his sleeves and the hem of his tunic, wondering briefly what it would feel like to feel the rush of air on his own marred skin again.

“Come, walk with me, General.”

Veers followed at his side as Vader turned away from the rendezvous point and unhurriedly walked towards a gentle incline, continuing until they were both on top of the small hill. The view was both lackluster in its emptiness and magnificent in the evenness of the fields of pure snow that had lain undisturbed for centuries before the battle had burnt an ugly hole in the inhospitable planet's beauty. Birds of prey drew their circles high above the plains, their melodious calls reaching far as they soared on winds that had formerly carried cries of desperation. The sky was a crystal clear azure, streaked with slender feathers of clouds, and the gleaming silver arrowhead of the _Executor_ hovering in low orbit surrounded by the Star Destroyers of Death Squadron. Now that the enemy was gone, it was almost jarringly serene.

The planet did not care, Vader knew. The wind would always be blowing. The birds would always be calling. The frozen ocean beneath the snow would never thaw. Their footprints would fade, the wrecked machines freeze and their metal fracture. 

The peace brought to the galaxy, though, would never be forgotten.

“Tell me…” Vader inquired, turning his head to look at Veers. “What does this world mean to you now?”

“There is nothing more to claim” he said thoughtfully, allowing his gaze to sweep across the far expanse of the snowfields where the crossfire had raged. “It has been bled dry of its natural resources across the centuries. Not even smugglers see any worth in this lump of ice. We should waste no more time in this empty place.”

 _A wise answer,_ Vader thought. _There is no population to liberate here. No native uprising to crush. No governors to beat treasonous thoughts out of. Hoth is…_

“Nothing but a graveyard” the general finished for him with grim satisfaction, tugging at the hem of his right glove to keep it in place when a cold gale came howling over the hill. “And we, my Lord, have put the Rebellion to rest.”

There was something indescribably _alluring_ to the way Veers gestured while he spoke. There was a glow in his eyes when he turned to face his Lord, looking into and through the insectoid lenses of his mask. It was - what was it? A request, an invitation, an offer-

The corners of Veers’ lips twitched imperceptibly in the quickest flash of a smirk.

That effortless, yet powerful gesture, his open hand holding the sky in its palm, was a _promise_.


End file.
